


At the end of the road

by DarkShadeless



Series: Overseer Sar [43]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: ... feelings, Complicated Relationships, dealing with the aftermath of a deep-cover mission, spoilers for Nathema arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 01:43:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16358261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: In the aftermath all Theron can muster the energy to feel is tired.





	At the end of the road

 

In the aftermath the only thing Theron can muster the energy to feel is tired. He did what he thought he had to do, it came back to bite him even if it also worked and weathering his comrades’, his _friends’_ , distrust is… it might be hurtful if he wasn’t so exhausted. It probably will be, later. Things were different here, in Odessen. Been a while since his job didn't hang over him like a dark cloud.

He’s a spy, he always has been and this part never gets any easier.

Theron makes it all the way to his old quarters before he realizes that they’re no longer his. _Right. Why keep a traitor's quarters on, just in case?  
_

He hasn’t even asked for new ones, or where he’s stationed. He thought- he’s not sure what he thought. That’s when it really hits, when he’s standing there, staring at a door now closed to him, trying to muster the willpower to walk back the way he came and face Lana for the second time today.

It hits and it _hurts_. Theron has to employ every trick he learned when he was young, when he still thought he would be a Jedi one day, just so he won’t shake apart in the damn corridor.

_Right._

It’s possible that he loses a little time, after that. Still half in mission mode but not enough to find an objective, he wanders.

Not without a destination. He realizes that too late, too.

The roughhewn ceiling grows higher, more expansive until it domes out over the entry point to the Force enclave. That should be a dead giveaway but what his feet were looking for still catches Theron off guard just as badly as the sight of a bolthole no longer his own.

Yon’s students notice him first. Some of them falter in surprise, some… well. Even baby Sith are Sith. Unless he's missing his mark a few of them are sizing him up for a casket.

_Oh. Oh kriff._

Reality reasserts itself, the fog lifts and Theron knows where he is and why he came. And just how scrivved he is. Yon will take one look at him- _Yep. There he goes._

His lover sees him and it doesn’t take a master spy to pin down how quickly he goes from ‘motivational’ to ‘murderous’. Granted that’s a sliding scale _but_. But. Here Theron had been avoiding _Lana_. He should have had the sense to avoid the person who will tear his _balls_ off. For flouncing off, for faking treason and most of all for flouncing back _in_ when his own bed wasn’t available. Take your pick. Theron's pretty sure one of them would do it, much less all three. Yon isn't the most forgiving guy.

 _Slag me. I’m dead. I'm so done._ Despite this picture-perfect certainty he can't make himself move.

The training hall has fallen deathly silent. Not even hormone driven stupidity is enough to make the assembled young sensitives risk their overseer’s wrath when he has _this_ to fan the flames. Yon's eyes are the precise shade of freshly spilled lava as he stalks his way across the training mats. He's the most beautiful thing Theron has seen in over a year. Also the most deadly, but his self-preservation seems to have rolled over and died.

Which means, of course, that his mouth decides to run away from him and compound his own funeral notice _because why not_. “Hello, honey. I’m home?”

There’s something close to a collective intake of breath. Whether in shock or outrage, Theron can’t say. He’s too busy being appalled at himself. For a long moment his lover says precisely nothing.

It’s more than he can stand. Silence is the worst. Sure, he’s already brittle but anything else would at least give him something to _react_ to.

 

_Silence is all he ever got from the people he needed most.  
_

 

The agent’s winning smile, already fragile as blown glass, starts to falter. “So, did you space my stuff or just burn it?”

No answer. Seconds tick by. Then, so quiet he knows just how close he is to having his kidneys torn out, “Did you do your duty?”

Theron swallows heavily. That’s not the question he expected, or one that is easy to answer. He’s not sure what he will say, exactly, until he does, words tumbling over each other as if Yon is dragging them from him by force, “I- I thought I was.”

The honesty of it leaves him raw. _I thought I did, I did what I thought I had to, and it worked out, but it also didn’t. And now I don’t know anymore. I don’t know._

He almost goes to pieces, again, just from that.

Yon watches him try and fail to suppress post-mission shakes. They've had their share of ups and downs but for the life of him, Theron has no idea what's going through his head. If he gives a damn, if he has gone so far past incandescent that he's come right around to homicidal serenity, or... he can't tell.

“Alright then.” The Sith reaches for his belt and in a flash of dissociation Theron thinks he’s going for his lightsaber, to gut him just as calmly as he tore the scab off that barely stitched wound. “Your crap is by the fresher. There’s leftovers that should be fine. I’ll be home by six. If you eat my last piece of gorka berry tart I’m going to end you.”

Every sentence is delivered with finality that dares him to argue. When he makes no move to reach for the key card, Yon sighs and pokes him in the chest with it. It’s sharper than it should be and somehow the only thing that has felt real since he met the Commander in the field and confessed all his sins. Maybe longer. “Theron. Go get some sleep. And food. And a _shower_.” His lover’s iciness thaws around the edges. “Do you need me to walk you there?”

Theron fumbles for the card, then, almost drops it when he grabs for Yon’s hand in his haste. He’s… warm. He had forgotten how hot the man runs that he shares his bed with. Shared. Force. He almost blurts out something incredibly stupid right in front of Yon’s class, like ‘Will you come and hold me until I feel like I’m not freezing from the inside out?’

That… that would be more than he could handle, even if his lover says yes. And he wouldn't. _Would he?_

“No I can- I’ll manage.”

After a pause, the Sith takes that with a nod. It’s not a lie. Theron’ll manage. He can and he will but he still spends a few minutes hesitating in the doorway, staring like an idiot after the only person who saw him and told him, in their own way, ‘ _Welcome home.’_

_And what might be more: I was waiting for you. I knew you'd be back.  
_

 

His things are, indeed, in a box next to the fresher. Even his backup jacket. There’s a container of shuttle fuel right next to it. Looks like his lover was keeping his options open. For some reason that makes Theron laugh until he cries. Maybe it’s the stress. He hasn’t unwound since before Umbara, hasn’t dared to. Long-term deep cover missions are hell.

He can’t find it in him to get up again until Yon gets off from work and all but drags him into the shower, nagging him about everything from his wardrobe choices to his new haircut, the whole way.

It’s good to be home.

 


End file.
